Time Travel, Quargles, Blown Up Microwaves
by TotallyNotFamousGal1920118LOVE
Summary: Time Travel, Quargles, Blown Up Microwaves, Frequent Quarrels, Supernatural Abilities, and the Beatles? Fuck My Life. This story is one of many different genres. Romance, Supernatural, Adventure, Friendship,Tragedy, Spiritual, Mystery, Drama, and Humor. I'm not good at really explaining things, just read the first chapter
1. In which we are transported back in time

_**Soooo this is a collab between me and Georgerocksthehouse, we had this randomness of an idea at 5 AM when her dad came up and told us to go to bed. I hope you like it **_

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Time Travel, Quargles, Blown Up Microwaves, Frequent Quarrels, Supernatural Abilities, and the Beatles? Fuck My Life.

Luck, that was all I needed right now, luck is all any of us ever needed; but before I go on and on about how terrible life is, how about introducing myself. I'm Coralie, odd name I know- but it's what I am and you are just gonna have to deal with it.

This story I'm supposed to be telling you happened…quite a while ago actually. Why am I telling you in the first place? I felt someone needed to know, and so did my twin Colleen, friend Avril, and everyone else whose life had been affected by this.

We were just two 'ordinary' girls in Liverpool, England; having moved there from the United States because that is where the Beatles used to live. She, Avril, and I all lived there being best friends, and worst enemies at times. We got a big studio apartment, and decorated our rooms with the Beatles movie Help! in mind.

So my room was a mix between John's, Ringo's, and Paul's; loving books, having a high metabolism, and my favorite color being white that's just what it had to be.

Colleen's room was just like George's except for having a pit bed like John's. When questioned why she exclaimed, "Because George and the pit bed are just that awesome, Coralie! Duh!" and Avril, well she just had a room like Paul's but in dark purple claiming it was 'homish' to her.

Any road, I'm getting away from the real point of the story. So on the day of December 8th 2011, Avril decided to go on a date with her boyfriend instead of staying home with Colleen and I to remember John Lennon. Why does she just do that? All the time too, it's like sometimes she doesn't remember the meanings of certain days.

So Colleen and I were listening to all of John's songs and watching movies, we were about to watch Help! It was about 3:00 at this time and I had still not eaten lunch.

My favorite food was tomato soup so I got out the can and put it in a bowl, mixing it with milk, and put it into the microwave.

Colleen heard the microwave beeping and came in screaming,"MY MICROWAVE!" Being the dumb blonde I am, it seems that I forgot to take the spoon out of the bowl while mixing it and just then it blew up. We were thrown far back and fell onto our butts.

"Good thing that one was cheap, but it's still the 35th one you've blown up this year, Coralie! Wait... where the hell are we?" Colleen lectured me as we pulled ourselves up from a cobblestoned street.

"Well my dear twin sister Colleen, it seems we have been thrown onto a street where there happens to be a bunch of screaming girls, the police, and the Beatles?"

"Really? I'm not gonna fall for it, Coralie."

"Whatever, but I gotta admit George is looking at you with a really sexy expression."

"WHAT!" She turned around abruptly, "CORALIE! You are gonna die!"

"What, I just pretended that I saw the Beatles and George was giving you looks."

"Talking 'bout us luv?" Colleen and I turned around slowly, noticing who it was.

"Hey Colleen- looks like I wasn't kidding!

"Fuck you, Coralie."

"I don't do girls Colleen, although I think they do." I said as I gestured to the Beatles.

"Whatever, you'd be willing to do John."

"You'd be even more willing to do George."

"We are standing right here luv."

"We don't care."

"Uh... luv?"

"Give us a second!"

"Luv!"

"WHAT!"

"Your tits are lighting up." I pulled my phone out of my bra to find that I had gotten a text from Avril.

"OH MY GODS! Colleen I have bars in, in..."

"Let's go with 1965," she instantly answered.

"Ok, OH MY GODS COLLEEN I HAVE BARS IN 1965!"

"Well, who is it?" It just so happened to be our friend Avril. The text on my iPhone said, 'OH MY GODS CORALIE, GUESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED! MDC THE QUARGLE ESCAPED!'

I turned towards Colleen slowly, "We have a problem..." I started feeling that familiar pain on the left side of my forehead (where there just happens to be a scar) that told me one of my 'migraines' were going to be causing a ruckus. "But before that, I happen to be having a slight malfunction, called a 'migraine'."

"Shit, that's just, shit, we have to get you somewhere else. You have to be out of the public eye when this happens!"

"I can't help the fact that we met the Beatles and they are always in the public eye! Just someone get me out of here!"

John, being the bastard that he is, ran to my side and picked me up bridal style. "You are staying at my flat luv, whether you like it or not"

"How far away is it?" Colleen quickly inquired.

"Like a block away."

"Hurry up then!" I felt the pounding of John's feet as he started running to the flat. Then, I blacked out.


	2. MY MICROWAVE and other assorted problems

_**This chapter is written by Georgerocksthehouse. Read on!**_

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Time Travel, Quargles, Blown Up Microwaves, Frequent Quarrels, Supernatural Abilities, and the Beatles? Fuck My Life.

I curled up in my pit bed, staring at the television and listening to John Lennon's Imagine album for what felt like the millionth time. It was past two in the afternoon, and normally I wouldn't be doing such a thing since I was not by nature a lazy person. However, it was December 8, 2011, and it was one of the exceptions to the rule. Who wouldn't stare listlessly around on the day one of your idols and favorite musicians died?

Both my slightly older twin sister Coralie and I had specifically made sure we had this day off of work (me) and social obligations (her.) The same thing happened on the day George died and when Linda had died, too. We spent those days mourning and remembering great people who died relatively young and deserved a longer lifetime. And we weren't alone. Many of the residents of Liverpool, England also did the same.

A loud slam of a door from down the hall alerted me to the fact that Coralie was awake, aware, and most likely pissed off at Avril, our third studio apartment-mate. She was out on a date with her current boyfriend, and my sister thought it was because she just didn't know what certain days (like December 8) meant. But, that wasn't true. I spent a lot more time thinking about people and why people did the things they did than Coralie, and I knew that Avril was trying to block out her grief over John's passing by having a good time with someone she cared deeply about. If I ever got a boyfriend who actually cared, I would want to do the same thing. But, I was going to be single for the rest of my life- I had never even kissed a boy- and it just wasn't going to happen.

"I'm gonna put in Help! downstairs on the big television," my sister's voice suddenly rang out into my airy, open bedroom. "Want to come watch?"

"Sure," I accepted, pulling my lazy arse out of bed. Quickly, I grabbed my reversable, overlarge sweatshirt with John circa 1971 on the back and pulled it on, sticking my iPod, earbuds, smartphone, and my 'lucky necklace' in my pocket as I went. The 'lucky necklace' would end up around my neck within a few minutes, since I couldn't do anything without it, and the iPod and smartphone were useful tools to have when you lived your life in the manner Coralie, Avril, and I had to. We weren't whores or anything like that, but our lives weren't what was considered normal by any definition of the word.

I stopped in the doorframe of my room. It was almost exactly like George's from Help! with grass on the floor instead of a rug and the same design. However, instead of a normal bed I had a pit bed like John's, except in red, purple, and orange since they were my favorite colors. Most of my actual things were hidden away in a closet cleverly built to be hidden by a fake wall panel.

Sighing, I closed the door behind me as I walked into the 'hall' of our studio. Down the 'hall' was Coralie's room (a mix of John's, Paul's, and Ringo's rooms due to her love for books, high metabolism, and adoration of the color white) and one of our two bathrooms. Towards the front end of the 'hall' was Avril's room (just like Paul's except in many many violent shades of violet) and the opening to the rest of the place. My feet carried me on autopilot down the worn hardwood floors and into the living room-office mix. There was a large flat screen t.v. on one side, with a large, beaten-up off-white sofa, an obnoxiously awesome red recliner, and two reasonable, cozy, soft black armchairs. On the other end was a laptop sitting on a computer desk that was overstuffed with papers. They were falling onto the floor in a weird kind of halo all around. The old black vinyl computer chair was nearly falling apart with stuffing falling out of rips that had been caused by a recent... visit... by a certain shadowy asshole. There was also a fold-up table covered in green patterned vinyl covered in textbooks on almost any subject imaginable.

A set of wooden half-steps separated this chaos from the kitchen, which was an all-new kind of hell. The gas oven/stove combo was in the original stainless steel, excepting the fact that Coralie had painted the exterior with fireproof white paint. Our fridge, dishwasher, sinks, and cabinets were in the same kind of state- like they had been when we bought the place, but slightly altered in a non-harmful way. The table was a battered, round, wooden affair with two matching chairs, two cheap assemble-at-home types I had purchased to replace the ones destroyed by certain... other... assholes, and a foldable black metal one with shitty padding on the seat. And then there was the microwave.

The microwave was a point of contention in our messed up semi family. Coralie had blown up a grand total of 34 microwaves in the past year, and I (the supposed smart one in our trio) had no idea how she managed it. Due to her propensity for accidents involving the appliance, she had been forbidden from touching it. Ever. Not even with a thirty nine and a half foot pole. Not in a box, not with a fox. Never. If there was such a thing as a microwave war, all the world's countries would be contacting me for psychological help with their veterans. That was my level of experience.

I flung myself into the red recliner and watched my blonde sister put the Help! dvd into the player. She stood up almost instantly, tossing the remote to me as the warnings on the disk began to play and as she ambled to the kitchen, presumably to make lunch. Rolling my eyes as the boring, government required warnings shot across the screen, I pulled out my phone to check for any news alerts or texts I might have missed. Fortunately there weren't any. I replaced the phone in my pocket and quickly fastened the heart pendant around my neck.

Suddenly, I heard the familiar beeping of a microwave that had been started. I flew up from my seat and tore into the kitchen, absolutely stark raving mad at my twin. She wasn't supposed to touch the microwave, and she knew it! I could have put up a sign to remind her, since she was fairly oblivious, but she had used that to reduce number 13 to a pile of rubble and I wasn't going to risk it again.

"MY MICROWAVE!" I screamed as I tore around the corner. I had only a second to see the look of dawning horror on my sister's face before number 35 exploded in our faces with a loud bang. I felt the momentum of the explosion grab me and send me flying back what felt like an inordinately long distance for a microwave explosion.

Finally, she and I landed on a solid surface. I couldn't quite tell what it was since I was blinking bright spots out of my vision, but my best guess was a floor or a road. "Good thing that one was cheap," I started as I pulled myself up, "but it's still the 35th one you've blown up this year, Coralie! Wait... where the hell are we?" I continued as I slowly became aware of the dim outlines of buildings that didn't look a thing like the ones that I stared out of my window at and the semi-distant roar of what undoubtedly had to be a large crowd.

"Well my dear twin sister Colleen, it seems we have been thrown onto a street where there happens to be a bunch of screaming girls, the police, and the Beatles," my sister tried to con me as I squinted at the shapes.

"Really?" I grumbled to her. "I'm not gonna fall for it, Coralie."

"Whatever, but I gotta admit George is looking at you with a really sexy expression," she said smugly.

"WHAT!" I spun abruptly on my heel, still half blind, trying to identify him. If George Harrison really was staring at me with a sexy face, I would probably walk right up to him and ask him why in the name of fuck he would find anything about my ugly self sexy before starting to have a good, old-fashioned panic attack. Noticing nobody I shrieked, "CORALIE! You are gonna die!"

"What, I just pretended that I saw the Beatles and George was giving you looks," she answered me slyly.

"Talking 'bout us luv?" A new, familiar, Beatle voice interjected. Coralie and I turned around slowly, instantly realizing that it was a very young Paul McCartney despite having a now only minor splotch in my eyes. About a million different warning signs went off in my brain at once. How in the hell...?

"Hey Colleen- looks like I wasn't kidding!" Coralie smirked.

"Fuck you, Coralie," I deadpanned back, more than a little confused.

"I don't do girls Colleen, although I think they do," she said, gesturing to the Beatles.

"Whatever, you'd be willing to do John," I retorted.

"You'd be even more willing to do George!" Coralie returned.

"We are standing right here love," John Lennon (how in the name of the Gods?) pointed out.

"We don't care," she and I chorused in unison, returning to our bickering.

"Uh... love?" he tried after a second.

"Give us a second!" Coralie snapped.

"Love!" he cried.

"WHAT!" Coralie bellowed.

"Your tits are lighting up." I rolled my eyes at his typical Lennon-ness as my sister reached into her shirt to grab her iPhone. Staring around, I instantly noticed George and Ringo standing about five feet behind John and Paul, and John and Paul being about five feet away from us. We were in a dingy little alleyway that was like a small tunnel, about thirty feet long.

"OH MY GODS! Colleen I have bars in, in..." she started out at the top of her lungs but trailed off, unsure.

"Let's go with 1965," I instantly answered, basing my assessment off of the wardrobe, hairstyles, and the roar of what was probably a mob of fangirls somewhere close to us.

"Ok, OH MY GODS COLLEEN I HAVE BARS IN 1965!" she hollered.

"Well, who is it?" Coralie opened the text and read it. I saw her eyes go back and forth. Again, the look of dawning horror appeared on her face as she slowly pivoted to face me. "We have a problem..."

I started feeling that familiar apprehension and fear that told me absolutely nothing good was going to happen. I wasn't exactly psychic, but I could get vague feelings about events once in a blue moon that gave the general outcome. And whatever it was that that text said, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to Coralie, Avril, and I in our not-so-natural-lifetimes.

"But before that, I happen to be having a slight malfunction, called a 'migraine'."

"Shit, that's just, shit, we have to get you somewhere else. You have to be out of the public eye when this happens!" I exclaimed, not believing ourgreat luck. An exploding microwave, time travel, the Beatles, bad news, and a migraine... all in one day? Fuck our lives.

"I can't help the fact that we met the Beatles and they are always in the public eye! Just someone get me out of here!" Coralie started to panic slightly.

John, being the bastard that I knew he was, ran to my sister and picked her up bridal style. I again rolled my eyes. How desperate was he, anyway? "You are staying at my flat luv, whether you like it or not"

"How far away is it?" I quickly inquired, preparing for a mad dash to fuck-only-knows-where.

"Like a block away," he answered quickly.

"Hurry up then!" Coralie cried.

We needed no prompting, and started flat-out sprinting off after John. However, about halfway to his place, Coralie blacked out. That was when the shit really started to hit the fan.


	3. In which Colleen goes missing

_**This is chapter three of the story, but chapter two of Coralie's point of veiw.**_

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Time Travel, Quargles, Blown Up Microwaves, Frequent Quarrels, Supernatural Abilities, and the Beatles? Fuck My Life.

The last thing I noticed before blacking out was a faint cackle. I knew it was SMT, I knew it. I felt horrible about not being able to help my sister, Collen, when he showed up.

Suddenly, all of my thoughts faded from my mind, as the blackness turned into an equivalent of a dirty window, which only let me see the out line of what was going on. I watched as my sister stared up at the black shadow in front of her in astonishment and horror. I heard her thoughts as she ran a million questions through her mind. I tried to call out to her.

"COLEEN! GET OUT OF THERE! WAKE ME UP! DO SOMETHING! DON'T JUST STAND THERE AND DIE!"

We both knew that SMT would attack because he had the opportunity, a better opportunity now that I was unconscious, and Avril was missing. In the state he was in now, it would most likely take all three of us to fight.

"What the fuck is that?" John roared. Oh Gods, how was she going to explain this one?

"Bad news," Coleen shouted back. "Move it, Lennon- all of you get the hell out of dodge!"

Without looking to see if any of them obeyed her,she launched myself into the air right at SMT. No.

My sight of the outside world was drifting away. I looked down, knowing from past experiences that I couldn't get myself up. I needed someone or something to give me advice, or a clue. I slowly looked up, and noticed a glowing purple orb suspended in midair, right in front of me. I started to walk towards it out of curiosity, seeing it was the exact shade of violet that Avril's "symbol" was, I felt a presence other than my own. "Avril...?" I whispered. I needed to know, is she okay? Did something horrible happen?

Yes. She was in danger, she needed help, and i couldn't do a damn thing about it. The room went cold. I heard a cold, harsh, and raspy voice inside ,y head. "I will get your friend to cooperate dear girl. No matter what it takes".. Oh shit! SMT had more followers, they were here. They had Avril. He was here!

I started to regain consciousness from my vision induced dreamlike state. I was in John's arms. Why? I looked around like a little kid who lost their mommy at the store. I felt that way, my twin sister Colleen pretty much did all of the "motherly" things, while I had fun, and acted like a little kid. "Where's Colleen? Where is my sister?" I asked John sitting up on his lap. He looked at me surprised, as if I had startled him. "Where is my sister? Is she okay? Did he get her? What happened while I was asleep!?" I started freaking out on John. She HAS to be okay!

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**_sorry about the short chapter guys, Georgerocksthehouse always writes long chapters, so you'll be happy with that._**


	4. In which Colleen is NOT actually missing

**Colleen's Viewpoint**

I stared at the shadowy mass ahead of me in horror. How in the hell was SMT here? As far as I knew, he stalked Avril, was incapable of leaving her, and had been right behind her as soon as she walked out of our apartment back in 2011! However, we did know that he would find out if either Avril, Coralie, or I was unconscious and capitalize on an attack of opportunity. But how to drive him off? Usually he was just a creepy shadow following silently and harmlessly along for whatever reason. When he was pissed off, though, he was extremely lethal- and he was pissed off and then some. In this state, it would most likely take all three of us to fight him to a draw. Unfortunately, I was the only one in any sort of condition to... take steps. Now, how would I do it?

"What the fuck is that?" John roared, distracting me from my thoughts.

"Bad news," I shouted back. "Move it, Lennon- all of you get the hell out of dodge!" Without looking to see if any of them obeyed me, I launched myself into the air right at SMT. "Hell-o asshole!" I cried.

SMT gave a bellowing noise that I had never heard before and tried to hit me with one of his gigantic mitt-like hands. Instinctively I dropped the couple of feet it took to hit the nearest flat rooftop and his paw swiped through the air that I had occupied only a few seconds before. He bellowed again and sluggishly turned to try to attack me again.

Needless to say, I wasn't exactly happy with leaving myself exposed, so I quickly pulled myself up and again sent myself flying up in the air. This time, though, I went higher. Much higher. Altitude wouldn't give me much of an advantage, excepting the fact that SMT had to grow to reach me and that would take him time. I could use that time to plan, or to do something.

Well, he was a shadow. The only two things that could combat shadows were either light, which was a piece of Coralie's extensive domain, or spirit, which was Avril's. I was basically fucked over- air and earth only worked against things that were actually substantial, and my charm ability didn't work on things that weren't from our actual planet. My symbol was a heart- what was I supposed to do, love him to death?

Suddenly, a bright brilliant beam of golden light shot down on SMT from the clouds above me, shocking me straight from my thoughts. I covered my eyes; it was far too bright for me to look at.

After what felt like an age of waiting, I finally peered out through a gap between my fingers. What I saw amazed me. SMT was gone? Liverpool was still in one piece? The hell?

I lazily drifted back down to the flat rooftop, trying to figure out that light and how my sister and I ended up in 1965. Giving up the light as some kind of cosmic coincidence, I focused on the whole time-travel issue. It seemed to me as if the microwave exploding had triggered our little excursion, but why had it done what it did in the first place? Did it have to do with all the supernatural energy that had been released over a long period of time in that kitchen, or was it just a weird-ass mishap? What about the date? Did it being December 8 have anything to do with it? Would we create a paradox by our existence in this time, or were we supposed to be here? Was this even the timeline as we knew it? Could we reverse the effect and go home or were we stuck here?

Suddenly, my thoughts reminded me that my sweatshirt was reversible and not exactly 1965-kosher. I whipped it off, switched it to the safe, forest green side, and pulled it back on before I froze my arms and torso off in the cold air.

I remained camped out on the rooftop for around five more minutes, anxiously waiting to see if SMT would show his ugly face again. Fortunately, he didn't and I figured it was safe enough for me to go find my sister and the Beatles- wherever they were.

I floated down from the rooftop onto the ground in the alley behind the building and slowly made my way towards the faint screams I heard. If that wasn't fangirls I'd eat my foot. Sure enough, after walking for around ten minutes I rounded a corner and saw a tall building- either an apartment complex or a hotel- absolutely surrounded by screaming, swooning, panicking girls.

"Fuck my life," I whispered. How was I supposed to get through all that? If the mob didn't kill me, the doorman would deny me entrance, and if by some miracle I got into the building, how would I make it into the rooms? It seemed like a futile endeavor. But didn't most hotels and apartment buildings have roof access doors? I could fly up there and pick the lock to get in. I'd have to use my charm ability to keep anyone from noticing me, but if I tried to enter through the front door I'd need to use it too. And I wouldn't be attacked by jealous fans, either.

My mind was made up. I turned and ran back to the alley I had started in and hovered up to the rooftop. From there I shot up another good fifty feet and started drifting towards the hotel. :You can't see me: I thought to myself, enacting my charm power. :I'm here, but invisible to everyone but myself.:

Even though I was fairly confident in my ability to use charm, it was still very nerve-wracking to fly over the heads of hundreds of people. Every once in a blue moon a human is born without any kind of supernatural powers but with the capability to see through disguises and such of a supernatural nature. All the crowd needed was one of those people and I was screwed.

Thankfully, I landed on the roof without any disturbance in the mob. That... was good, to say the least. Nobody would see a thing if anything out of the ordinary happened. I crept across the rooftop to the access door and had to laugh. It was unlocked! Snickering, I walked into the building and promptly climbed down what felt like a billion flights of stairs, peeking out every time I reached a new floor to check for anything that could indicate the Beatles were there.

I had been climbing down stairs for what felt like an age and was rather bored with it. Rolling my eyes, I pulled yet another door open and peered out- only to find myself stumbling over a neon orange and black barricade.

Nothing says 'someone important is here!' like a barricade.

I picked myself up and headed farther down the hallway, closing the door behind me. There was a grand total of ten doors I could look in. What were the odds I'd pick the right one first?

Suddenly, I heard a very familiar voice shriek, "Where is Colleen?!" I grinned and headed towards the third door on the left. Only Coralie would start to shriek and scream when she realized I was gone. Flinging the door open without the aid of a key, I was instantly tackled and nearly bowled over by my sister.

"SMT is here!" she cried into my ear.

"No fucking shit, Sherlock," I agreed as she dragged me into the room by an arm. "I mean, I just battled the guy and you're telling me he's here?"

"You what?" she screeched.

Well, this was going to be a fun explanation.**  
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	5. In which we play aninteresting game

**I know we were doing, Colleen, Coralie, but I thought you might want to hear this side before the other side.**

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Chapter Three: in which we play an... interesting game.

My sister dragged me right through the main area of the hotel room and right into a bathroom, ignoring the confused looks coming from the four Beatles sprawled around the room in various positions and the fact that I was sure she could pull my arm right out of its socket without trying. She shoved me inside, completely ignorant of the fact that I was off-balance and almost ended up with my head breaking through a flimsy cabinet door hiding the sink's plumbing, and locked the door behind us.

"Alright," Coralie said in a businesslike tone that I rarely ever heard out of her, "you tell me what the fuck happened right now." Instead of upset, the 20 year old that was my sister looked angry, furious even. Inwardly, I sighed. Why wouldn't she just let herself cry or something? One of my particular areas of study in college was psychology, and one thing we were told time and time again was that bottling up emotions like Coralie did was exceedingly unhealthy. She didn't believe it, of course, but that didn't make it any less true.

Deciding not to encourage my sister's rage, I quickly outlined my confusing battle with SMT, glossing over the fact that my ass was being thoroughly kicked and that my only saving grace was that strange beam of golden light. All-in-all, my tale was simplified to this: "SMT and I fought. I won."

Coralie scowled. "But how did you win?"

I groaned, accidentally slamming my head back into the cabinet door and its solid handle. That hurt, but it didn't distract me. Finally I decided to just get it over with. Since I didn't know any actual facts, she couldn't grill me for information and I would hopefully be free to ice my new head injury within five minutes.

"SMT was winning," I started slowly, "so I shot up around a hundred feet to buy myself some time. I thought about my helplessness- since light and spirit are the only two ways to defeat him- and this bright golden light just shot down out of the sky. I couldn't look at it, and when it vanished SMT had also gone. That was it."

"Are you sure?" Coralie asked me suspiciously.

"Yes," I told her, trying my hardest to sound convincing.

Without another word my sister flounced from the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her.

I remained curled up on the floor for a minute, trying to pull my rampaging emotions back under control. First, there was the fact that I was coming down from an adrenaline rush and the tiredness that brought. Next, Coralie had had a vision and didn't bother to tell me anything, which did not bode well. Finally, an overwhelming part of me was insanely hurt over the fact that my sister hadn't even bothered to ask if I was alright or stayed outwardly upset over the fact that I had been forced to battle SMT by myself. I knew it was just the way she was, and that it would never change, and that it taught me to be tougher, and that a silly thing like that honestly shouldn't bother me, but it did. Some days it felt like Coralie just didn't care about me very much.

Oh, yeah- and we had traveled back in time and met the Beatles.

Forcing myself to set my personal problems aside (to be handled by a good fly later on,) I soaked a washcloth in cool water and held it against the back of my head for a while. Nothing beat a 24-ounce slushie cup for pain relief, but I was more than capable of dealing with it. If there was one thing I had learned about injuries, it was this: they go the hell away with minimum fuss.

After my head had become entirely numb, I decided that I had procrastinated long enough. I wrung the washcloth out and hung it back up on the white plastic towel bar before gathering my sometimes-lacking courage and marching out of the bathroom.

Once I rounded the corner, a very strange sight met my eyes. Coralie was sitting on a brown leather sofa, looking quite displeased at the fact she was sandwiched in between John and Paul. Ringo was sitting near her feet, and George was leaning over the sofa to listen to her. I felt an unheralded pang of jealousy- there she went again.

My sister's powers apparently put her through some major kind of hell, so karma made up for that by making her seem practically perfect. Coralie was athletic, intelligent, sociable, street-smart, wise, talented at pretty much everything, and beyond that she was pretty too. Some of my old guy friends had practically waxed poetic over her "flowing golden hair" and "perfect body" and "amazing personality." Some of those guys had been my love interest at the time, and this was shaping up to be the Alex Wesloh disaster all over again. I'd wager a million dollars George was staring down my sister's shirt rather than listening to her monologue.

If I heard anything else about my twin's perfectness I would just explode. Coralie, like any regular human being, was far from perfect and had plenty of faults! Just because people were too stupid to pull their heads from their asses and open their eyes did not make her perfect.

Quickly, I employed some of my favorite meditation techniques and felt the unnatural surge of jealousy slide away. Now I was just vaguely guilty. SMT had probably tampered with my emotions or something in an attempt to cause a schism on our side, and I had almost let him win. It was battles like these that Coralie didn't know about but I did, having more experience with SMT and his allies. But I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that sometimes I imagined them...

I shoved the thought to the back of my mind and plastered on my game face before walking out of the sheltered hallway and over to the Beatles and my sister.

"You know what we should do?" she asked as soon as I collapsed down into an armchair in cheesy, rose-patterned fabric.

Noncommittal grumbles came from the four Beatles as I considered whether or not to bite. Finally, I decided to take the bait. "What should we do?"

Coralie gave a shark-like grin and answered, "Play truth or dare."

Of course. Two random girls show up out of nowhere, one of them had a vision, the other one battles a gigantic shadow, and the first thing anyone thinks of to do is play truth or dare? Classic misdirection.

John smirked evilly. "How about your sister asks first?" he suggested.

Jesus Christ on a piece of toast... I started racking my brains to come up with any ideas to use for either category. Coming up with good truth or dare questions had never been my strong suit, but I couldn't risk looking bad in front of the Beatles. "Fine," I mumbled. "Coralie, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Well shit then. Frantically, my mind raced. The first non-childish idea I thought of went directly from brain to mouth without any filtering. "I dare you to shag Jonn."

"What?!" she shrieked as the four other players started catcalling and wolf-whistling. "No! No way!" My slightly-older twin sister glared at me so viciously that I actually almost flinched away from her.

"I dare you to make out with him, then," I gave in to my sister's look and protection of her (non-existent) virtue, figuring that it would be better for me both in the short-term of the game and the long-term of the time she'd be awake while I was asleep. I was afraid of the things that came out of her mind sometimes, and I did not want to be on the receiving end of any of those ideas.

The next few minutes were exceedingly awkward. Coralie straddled John and proceeded to do the most obnoxious version of the tongue tango that I had ever had the misfortune to witness while George, Ringo, and Paul watched as if transfixed. Finally, after what felt like forever, the two of them separated wearing identical 'I just snogged someone and am now horny as hell' looks.

"Alright," my sister said, combing through her hair with her fingers. "Ringo- truth or dare?"

He twitched out of some sort of daydream and replied, "Umm... truth."

Coralie looked taken aback, probably because someone other than me picked truth. Finally she asked, "Have you ever had any kind of sex with a man?"

"Oh, hell no!" Ringo cried, leaping up from his seat on the floor to glare at the suddenly snickering John and Paul. "And you two trying to convince me you were birds when I was drunk does not count!" He flopped face-first into an armchair next to the sofa and refused to get up. "Truth or dare, Lennon?"

John grinned evilly as I watched, filled with apprehension. I knew he'd pick dare, because that was how he was, and I didn't want my sister to choose to castrate him so she wouldn't have to do the dare.

"Dare," he hissed, smirking generally around the room as if challenging someone to stop him.

I knew it.

"Crack a raw egg over your head," Ringo deadpanned through the chair, flipping his hand vaguely towards a kitchenette off to the side of the main room. John shrugged and wriggled his way out from in between my sister and the arm of the sofa, headed to the kitchen, and came back bearing an egg. Then, in full view of everybody that cared to watch, most likely including some of the fans with binoculars, he smashed it onto the top of his head.

Paul noticeably winced at the sight and touched his pristine hairstyle protectively, making me hide a snicker in my hand. The rumors about him and his eyebrows had to be true at this rate...

I was startled from my thoughts by John's voice: "Truth or dare, Paul?" I could tell he was smirking without even needing to look at his face- his tone gave everything away to me.

My eyelids drifted closed as I heard Paul wearily reply, "Dare, John." It was starting to seem like there was absolutely no energy left in my body all of a sudden- the adrenaline rush from traveling in time and fighting SMT must have worn off already. I stifled a yawn with my hand and curled into the suddenly-comfortable armchair, losing awareness of the outside world. I doubted the others would even notice I was sleeping...

The next thing I knew, Coralie's familiar hands and voice were busy trying to wake me. For a split second I wondered what I was doing, sleeping in an unfamiliar chair, then all the days' events caught up with me and I sat bolt upright, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

"Truth or dare, Colleen?" she asked me frustratedly, likely because it took forever to wake me up and she didn't want to deal with an embarrassing younger twin sister like me in front of the Beatles.

Hoping that the dare she had planned wasn't too sexual or embarrassing, I answered, "Dare."

"Alright, go make me a cake," she ordered imperiously, looking down her nose at me.

My eyebrows flew up. That was probably the kindest dare my sister had ever given anyone, least of all me. Sadly, I didn't have the time or probably the resources to actually make a cake, but I had a shortcut.

I pulled myself up from the chair, feeling like I weighed a ton, and made my way into the tiny kitchen, feeling at least one set of eyes following me the whole way. Once I had made the trek there (only stumbling over my feet three times in around fifteen feet) I quickly gathered flour, sugar, water, olive oil, and a packet of hot chocolate mix that would have to cover for cocoa powder, mixed the proper quantities together in a large white and blue striped ceramic mug, and stuck it in the microwave for two minutes.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated from the inside pocket of my sweatshirt, scaring the hell out of me. I yanked it free and entered my seventeen digit password in a record time. When I saw the contents of the message- dated as being recieved on December 8, 1965, at 2:43 pm, from Avril Ziete- I'd swear to anyone who cared to ask that my heart stopped beating.

"OH MY GODS COLLEEN, GUESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED! MDC THE QUARGLE ESCAPED!" it read.

My phone clattered to the floor, slipping through my shock-loosened fingers. Fortunately, the microwave beeping at the end of its cooking cycle masked the noise, and I snatched it up from the floor before anyone caught a glimpse of something they shouldn't see.

No wonder Coralie seemed so pissed at me! I, the so-called responsible one of our trio, took a nap and left her all alone to deal with an escaped quargle. It didn't matter that he was back in the future- he was our problem no matter what.

As a sort of apology, I found a can of whipped cream and put an overly generous dollop on the top of my sister's 'cake' (which was technically a brownie, but she didn't know that) and sprinkled some of the leftover hot chocolate powder on top of that. Finally, I grabbed a spoon and headed back out to the main area.

Coralie said nothing, but all but tore the mug and spoon from my hands before stuffing her mouth full of faux cake. The six of us sat in an awkward silence for a minute, when I realized that I was supposed to ask truth or dare to someone. Automatically, I opened my big, fat mouth and asked, "Truth or dare, Paul?" If he picked truth, I was fucked- but, on the other hand, if he picked truth... I'd have the answer to a positively burning question of mine.

To my great surprise, he picked truth.

I swallowed hard and somehow managed to question, "Do you pluck your eyebrows?"

All hell promptly broke loose. Paul cried, "Fuck no!"

At the same time, George and Ringo burst into laughter, and my sister spewed a mouthful of brownie all over an expensive-looking coffee table. John leapt to his feet and started shouting to Paul about how he was a liar and that he thought, "The Paulie doth protest too much!" Paul responded with something I was glad I didn't catch in a heavy Liverpudlian accent and the next thing I knew he and John were wrestling on the floor.

After a good three minutes of chaos, Coralie apparently decided enough was enough and shrieked, "SHUT UP!" I don't know how she managed it, but every single Beatle in the room shut his mouth (and stopped fighting, if applicable,) and stared at her.

God damn, I wish I could do that.

"This obviously isn't working," she said sweetly, "So let's play a different game."

I could tell from the evil glint in her eyes that this was going to be even more interesting than playing truth or dare with the Beatles.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?


End file.
